“Still,” she said, “I saw animals. They need caring for.”
“My sister,” Drew said. “Josie. She and her husband live in Pueblo, close enough to run out and check on things, and we have a guy we hire from time to time. I’m entitled to some time on my own. My sister agrees.”
Jillian twiddled her pen. “So you’re not going home?”
He scratched the side of his neck. “Not directly, no.”
They drank in the view together, his breath matching hers in companionable silence. Jillian often was alone on the porch in the morning with a coffee mug, or a legal pad, or a book, or all three. Those elements were familiar. The unaccustomed aspect was a man whose presence made her at once comfortable and curious.
And never had she sat on the porch with a man whose dimple and gray eyes made her stomach quiver in this odd way. Her pen slipped from her distracted grip.
“Oops.” She bent to pick it up, but Drew had it already and handed it to her with a slight upturn in his lips.
He’d come for a reason beyond apologizing for Min. If her dad were home, he’d already have Drew talking about why he was really there. It couldn’t be to sit on the porch and look at the mountains with Jillian. Could it?
“Am I interrupting your work?” He gestured at the yellow pad and photocopied sheets in her lap.
“Investigating some of my own genealogy.” She nudged open the box of family mementos on the small side table between them. “Looking at the things in your home last week got me thinking about items I’ve never quite made sense of in my own family’s history.”
He nodded. “Glad I could be of assistance.”
She smiled. “If only you could explain why my Italian ancestors seemed to be tangled up with the Mafia.”
His eyes widened. “For real?”
“I think so. I haven’t figured it out yet.” She did her best to measure his expression. He was here—without Min—and the trunk was still in the living room. “Would you like to see the trunk that sent me trespassing on your land? It’s just inside.”
He glanced behind them through the front windows. “I don’t see how that would hurt anything.”
“Then let’s have a look.” Jillian led him inside the house, where she set her personal items down on the coffee table and gestured across the living room to where the steamer trunk stood open beside the piano.
“This really is old,” Drew said. “If it had legs, it could walk onto the ranch and fit right in up at the main house.”
“You really like the ranch, don’t you?”
“It’s a sweet spot for my soul.”
“I didn’t see the whole place, but from what I saw, I can understand why.”
“Maybe someday I can give you the whole tour.”
His eyes arrested hers, and she didn’t want to look away.
“What about Min?” She stumbled over her own words. “I mean … I’m sorry. I would love to see more of the ranch—if that was ever appropriate.”
Jillian let out a slow, controlled breath. She couldn’t help but like Drew Lawson—when his great-aunt wasn’t around. If the family had come to hold the property through nefarious means, it certainly wasn’t his fault. But Min wasn’t a puzzle she could ignore.
“Have you always lived on the ranch?” she asked.
Drew shook his head. “Hardly ever, actually. But Aunt Min has never lived anywhere else. Her mother married a rancher and took over running the property from her parents, and then Min did the same thing. Everyone else moved off the land at some point, but most of us love the place.”
“So Min owns it now?”
“Technically a family foundation does. But Uncle Ron sold his interest to his sisters as soon as their mother died, so it’s really just been Min and my grandmother from that generation. Various other descendants might be entitled to something if it were sold. Now my grandmother passed last year. But no one can do anything as long as Min chooses to live there. That’s one of the terms of the foundation.”
“Would anyone want to sell the land?” Jillian asked.
Drew shrugged. “Not if we can afford the upkeep. Parts of it have been sold off over the years to keep it afloat, but now that it’s more recreational than commercial, it’s not as expensive. Others come back for an occasional vacation, and it’s the place to be at Thanksgiving. Someone might like to live in the main house someday, but it would take some serious renovating.”
Jillian turned back to the trunk before them. “You can look at things if you like.”
“It belongs in a museum,” Drew said. “A lady’s clothes, and all that.”
“There are a few personal items.” Jillian pulled on the white gloves and opened a drawer. She didn’t want to rush or overwhelm Drew, but he was in a chatty mood, and she might not get another chance to gauge his reaction to the pictures. “The owner traveled with several photos.”
Drew took the multigenerational family photo Jillian handed him, holding it lightly around the edges, and studied it. She resisted prompting him with any commentary or speculation. He studied it for a full minute before speaking.
“This is why you were so curious about the old photo on my mantel.”
Jillian nodded.
“I can see the resemblance in the shape of her face, and something about her eyes, but this is a much younger person, so it’s hard to say it’s the same woman, isn’t it?”
“It would help to have someone who knew the person in your photograph look at this one.”
“Like Aunt Min.” Drew handed the photo back to Jillian. “What do you know about the person who owned this trunk?”
As much as Jillian wanted to deluge Drew with information while she had him to herself, away from his imposing aunt, she curbed the inclination. “Her name was Lynnelle Bendeure,” she said, “and she was from Cleveland, Ohio. She traveled to Denver in 1909 for business purposes. That’s about it. Then the trail goes cold.”
“Ohio?” Drew’s face lengthened in sobriety.
“Yes. Does that mean something to you?”
“I’m not sure.” Drew pushed his palms down the front of his jeans. “I suppose in your line of work, people spit in tubes all the time.”
“It’s been known to happen, yes.”
“A friend gave me one of those DNA kits for Christmas, so I spit in the tube. Aunt Min saw it before I got it mailed off and blew a gasket. You’ve met her. You know she can be harsh. But despite what you might think, most of the time she keeps her nose out of my personal business as long as I do what I’m supposed to do around the ranch to satisfy her that I’m earning my keep. But when she saw that box ready to mail, we had a huge argument.”
“Why?”
“I have no clue what set her off. But she actually took the kit out of the stack of stuff I was taking to the post office for her, opened it, and threw out the sample.”
“Whoa.”
“That’s what I thought. She’s two generations closer to the beginnings of our family history—my family history—but if I ask about it, she brushes me off. She remembers her grandparents. I know she does. My grandmother—Min’s sister—is gone, but she used to talk about the old days of being a child on the ranch once in a while, and Min is older than Grandma Gretchen was.”
“What did you do after she destroyed your tube?”
Drew set his jaw. “I bought another kit. I spit in the tube, and I sent it off. The results say I’m related to a bunch of people in Ohio. Fourth or fifth cousins or something like that.”
“So now you wonder about this trunk that came from Ohio and led me to your land.”
“It’s a lot of coincidences. When I saw on your card that you’re a genealogist, I thought you might be able to help me.”
“Help you how?” Jillian returned the white gloves to the top of the trunk. This was a twist she hadn’t expected.
“If I give you my log-in, will you look at the DNA results, poke around a little, and tell me if you think I’m really related to tho
se people?”
“Those DNA companies are very good at what they do,” Jillian said. “I’ve had a lot of clients use them. They give you solid statistics about the likelihood of the relationship.”
“I know. But before I upset Aunt Min by asking her what she knows about the results, I’d like a professional opinion I personally trust.”
“I would be glad to help,” Jillian said. She was tempted to try out some of the names she suspected. Would he recognize the names of his great-great-grandparents enough to tie them to any family stories about them?
No. She’d promised Nolan. The trial transcript could answer questions irrefutably. Patience. No more rankling the family—not even the family member who showed up on the doorstep with questions and offering his DNA.
Drew reached into a shirt pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. “This should get you into the account. I already started building my family tree with information I know, so you don’t have to worry about that.”
Jillian hoped her face didn’t show the thrill she felt. Direct access to Drew’s family tree. Min’s name. Cousins. Last names. A trove of information that would save her hours—days—of digging with dubious purpose.
“Hello!” Nolan’s voice rang from the back door. “Do we have company?”
“Hi, Dad,” Jillian called down the hallway. “Drew stopped by.”
“Welcome to our abode.” Nolan came in from the kitchen, bewilderment plastered on his face. “It’s nice to see you.”
“Likewise,” Drew said. “I was just about to scoot though. I’ll leave you both to your Saturday.”
“I’ll check this out,” Jillian said. “How will I reach you?”
“I’ll find you.” Drew was out the front door before she could propose a more specific plan.
“What was that all about?” Nolan asked. “Did I scare him off?”
“Keep in mind,” Jillian said, “that I was minding my own business and he stopped by here.” Then she gave her father the gist of what had transpired.
Nolan pulled out his phone.
“Who are you calling?” Jillian asked.
“Luke. Something tells me he needs to lean on his forensic accountant friend to speed things up.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Denver, Colorado
May 7, 1909
Dear Miss Bendeure,
I hope you will find your journey by rail comfortable and reliable. I have traveled by train many times between various major cities both before and after assuming my responsibilities in Pinkerton’s Denver office. I find it can be useful time to mentally take stock of the task before me and confirm my strategy. Because of the nature of my work, I take certain precautions in the conversations in which I engage with strangers. Due to the nature of your excursion, I advise you to do the same. Enjoy the comforts of the train and the companionship of fellow travelers—there are always those eager to converse—but remain focused on your purpose. When I meet you, we can talk at length about the agenda I have in mind, since this may fluctuate according to events that are yet unfolding. I expect we can conclude our business in a matter of a few days. You may want to arrange your return travel at a time that allows you to enjoy some of the culture Denver has to offer or even an excursion into the Rockies. They are quite impressive.
Yours sincerely,
James McParland
Manager, Western Division
Pinkerton’s National Detective Agency
Sunday, May 23, 1909
Denver, Colorado
“You have to leave your trunk.” Carey’s tone left no room for argument.
Lynnelle protested nevertheless. “My things! I have business documents related to the reason for this trip, along with irreplaceable personal items. I have a claim check in my possession, and I intend to claim my steamer.”
Her mother’s steamer. Her family’s Bible, handed down from her mother. Her mother’s handheld mirror and brush. The only copy Lynnelle had of the photograph of her brother’s family taken before his death, before his widow cut off contact between his children and the Bendeure family.
Willie put her hand on Lynnelle’s forearm. “It must be unbearable to think of leaving your things behind, but we believe it is not safe for you to retrieve your trunk. Or anyone. Undoubtedly it’s being watched.”
Heat oozed up Lynnelle’s neck. “What are you saying?”
“We can’t go back to the baggage car,” Carey said. In a face devoid of smile or pleasantries, no dimple afforded allure, but the deep gray of his eyes drew her in.
“Later, then,” Lynnelle said. “Surely the Union Pacific has a procedure for baggage that is not claimed immediately. A locked room somewhere until I can return.”
“That might not be possible,” Carey said. “For now, you can’t go anywhere near it.”
“But they won’t just pitch it or give it to just anyone. I have the only claim check. Eventually they’ll try to reach me, won’t they? Perhaps a letter sent to my home in Cleveland?”
“Possibly,” Willie said. “We can’t worry about that right now. Time is of the essence, Lynnelle. We must leave.”
Lynnelle reached for the case Carey had taken from her earlier. “How do I even know you are who you say you are?” She would not be caught up by a man’s eyes. Her mother had not raised her to be that dim-witted.
“We’ll take you to see Mr. McParland,” Willie said, “just as soon as we take care of those papers you’ve done such a fine job protecting.”
Lynnelle drew back and glared at Willie. “You only know about that because you went through my things.”
“I’m sorry about that. We had to know. I had my orders.”
“That’s proof of nothing.”
Carey pointed at the telegram still crumpled in Lynnelle’s fist. “Read it.”
Willie stepped back, glanced around, and then shook her head at Carey.
Lynnelle untwisted the paper. “If you haven’t read this, how do you know what it says?”
“McParland knows what he’s doing.”
Lynnelle focused on the words. ALL IS WELL WITH DELAY Stop SPECIAL ARRANGEMENTS REGARDLESS OF ARRIVAL Stop IN GOOD HANDS Stop WHEN I MEET YOU, WILL DISCUSS WHAT HAPPENED Stop MCPARLAND.
“I don’t understand.” Could Mr. McParland not have spent a bit more money for a few more words? Will discuss what happened. The phrase was in the past tense. What happened in Denver while Lynnelle was riding a train across the country? What happened on the train? What was happening now?
“They’re coming.” Willie’s voice was low and even.
“Then we’re going now.” Carey’s hand went to Lynnelle’s back, pushing her forward. “We can’t afford any more time discussing.”
“Where are we?” Lynnelle said. “Are we even supposed to be in this part of the building?”
“That’s not an important question at the moment.” Carey grasped Lynnelle’s hand and towed her. Willie was right behind. She could not escape.
“I don’t even know what I’m running from.”
“But we do,” Willie said.
“Keep your head down,” Carey said. “We have to cut through a corner of the main hall, but it’s a good place to get lost in the crowd. Give Willie the picnic basket.”
Lynnelle followed the instruction on instinct rather than will. Carey looped her hand through his elbow and covered it with his other hand, leaving Willie to look like the unattached woman carrying a case and a basket as they ducked through the flowing crisscrossing paths of passengers of Union Station.
And then they were outside, blinking in the afternoon sunlight.
“We need a cab.” Willie shifted the basket in her arms.
Lynnelle turned her head in both directions at her first view of Denver’s downtown brick structures. The Welcome Arch, which she expected to bring relief upon arrival, was not meant for her after all.
“Lynnelle!”
She flinched at the sound of her name. Mrs. Sweeney clomped toward them from
the corner with her cane, leaving a younger woman behind with several trunks.
“I waited for you inside as long as I could,” Mrs. Sweeney said.
Lynnelle glanced at Carey and removed her hand from his arm. “I’m sorry I was delayed.”
“Lynnelle isn’t feeling well,” Willie explained. “We’re going to make sure she gets some rest.”
“We were going to arrange for her to visit my family,” Mrs. Sweeney said. “My daughter is just over there. It will only take a minute.”
“That would be lovely, I’m sure,” Willie said, “but I’m afraid Lynnelle isn’t up to it at the moment.”
Mrs. Sweeney looked at Lynnelle, confused.
“What’s your daughter’s name?” Carey asked. “We’ll make sure to help Lynnelle find her when she’s recovered.”
“Elizabeth Owens. Mrs. Herbert Owens on Logan Street.”
“Very good. We’ll find it, then.”
“When?”
“A few days at most.”
Lynnelle nodded. “That’s right. When I feel less stricken.”
Mrs. Sweeney glanced over her shoulder twice as she shuffled away.
“I hated that,” Lynnelle said as they moved toward a cab. “Lying to her.”
“Don’t you feel stricken by all of this?” Willie asked.
“Of course.”
“There you go.”
“Will I really see her later?”
Silence.
“The Windsor is close by, as I understand.”
More silence.
“You’re not taking me there, are you?”
“We have other accommodations in mind.” Carey opened the door to a hansom cab and assisted her with a display of politeness she did not welcome.
She was in a strange city, with people who might or might not be who they claimed to be, going who knew where. Certainly she wouldn’t know the route back to Union Station without further inquiry of more strangers. Inside the carriage, Lynnelle hinged forward at the hips slightly and dipped her head to look out the window. Every landmark she saw would be important.
Willie smiled. And drew the curtains closed. Lynnelle’s stomach constricted.
When I Meet You Page 18